Dragos Goes to Washington (Elder Races #8.5)(17)

Quiet masculine laughter ghosted through her head. He strode for the door and held it open for her. Somehow she managed to walk out of the bedroom.

They made it downstairs with three minutes to spare of the half hour Dragos had given her. Bayne and Eva were waiting for them in the front hall. Bayne wore a tux too, his evening clothes heightening his rugged good looks, while Eva wore a silk gray Chanel suit.

“I still think you should have worn the red dress,” Pia told her. “You look stunning in red.”

The other woman shook her head with a grin. “Not while I’m on duty. The heels that go with that red dress are killer to run in.”

“All set?” Bayne asked Dragos.

Dragos nodded, and the four of them stepped outside where two black SUVs and a limousine were waiting. Security rode in the SUVs in front and behind, while Bayne and Eva climbed with Dragos and Pia into the back of the limo.

At first their conversation remained lighthearted. Dragos took her hand, lacing long, dark fingers through hers while Bayne and Eva engaged in good-natured banter.

As Pia listened to them with a smile, she absentmindedly scratched at her right thigh. She hadn’t taken the time to smooth lotion on after her shower, and her skin felt dry and itchy.

The banter died away, and Bayne and Eva fell silent as they drew close to the White House.

Protestors lined the street, carrying signs and shouting at the passing cavalcades. Pia watched the faces scroll past. The armored limo blocked the sounds so she couldn’t hear what the protestors were shouting, but their expressions were angry and distorted.

Disquieted and scratching at her itchy thigh again, she glanced at Dragos. He was wearing his inscrutable expression, his gold gaze flat and unrevealing as he watched the protestors. It was one of his most dangerous expressions.

What was he thinking when he looked into the crowd? With a single pass over their heads and a rain of dragon fire, he could so easily destroy all of them.

Of course, that would mean he would also destroy the entire Wyr way of life as well.

She crooned in his head, Honey, I’m so proud of you for not killing anybody.

His gaze flashed to hers, and that flat, assessing expression vanished as he laughed. Squeezing her fingers, he told her, Week’s not over yet.

More seriously, she asked, What do you think it will take to smooth things over?

His sexy mouth took on a cynical twist. Money, business and political agreements, the promise of less violence from the Elder Races, and a lot of charm. Other people, like you, are going to have to supply the charm.

She nodded, unsurprised by that last bit. If I’m expected to dance with anybody, you’re going to have to suck in your mating crazy. You up for that?

The laughter left his face, and he gave her a sour look. I’ll make it happen. Thankfully, most human male politicians are old, ugly, lying f*ckers. They’re not your type at all.

It was her turn to burst out laughing. Well, you are old, and you do lie better than anybody I know.

His eyelids lowered. That might be so, but you don’t think I’m an ugly f*cker.

True. She laughed harder. He might deal with politics out of necessity, but at his core, Dragos was far too rude to make an excellent politician. His real skills lay in cutthroat business.

And war. He was unsettlingly talented at going to war.

That thought sobered her up fast. Still absently rubbing at her thigh, she looked out the window again as they passed through the security gates and approached the White House.

When the limo rolled to a smooth stop, Bayne and Eva exited first, then Dragos.

Camera lights flashed nearby, blinding her as she took Dragos’s hand and stepped out of the vehicle. She looked up at the famous, imposing building. At first she had thought she would be very nervous at facing the evening, but to her surprise, a sense of calm anticipation settled over her.

Time to go make nice with the old, ugly, lying f*ckers.

Giving Dragos a sidelong, laughing glance, she tucked her arm into the crook of his sleeve and walked with him into the building.

Chapter Five

The White House function was a large, lavish affair. Ostensibly, the purpose was to give all the senators and members of Congress a chance to mingle with the seven demesne leaders as a way to break the ice for the week’s meetings and help to dissipate interracial tensions.

Dragos had never told anyone what happened in his head when he entered such large gatherings, not even Pia.

The dragon rose up to look out of his human-seeming eyes.

Look at all the fragile humans, dressed in their finery and girded with a sense of their own importance. He took note of the glittering jewels that the women wore, the beat of pulses at soft, vulnerable throats, and the way eyes slid away from meeting his.

The president and first lady greeted them with polite smiles. Silently, Dragos inclined his head when spoken to, while the dragon thought, I play at your games because it suits me to do so.

President Ben Johnson was a hardy, athletic-looking male in his early sixties, and universally acknowledged to be a charming, poised and intelligent man, but when he spoke, all the dragon heard was bleating, like a sheep. His mate responded with a quick reply, and both president and first lady smiled at her.

The pleasantries over, the dragon and his mate moved away to greet other dignitaries. Frailer, self-important prey.

They came face-to-face with an enemy—the vice president of the United States, Sarah Colton—and her husband, Victor. The vice president was much younger than the president. A graduate of the Yale law program, she was a clever, trim brunette in her early forties with a photogenic smile.